Of Gentlemen, Rogues, and Pirates
by Brunette
Summary: Elizabeth is getting married. But to whom?


_A/N: My first PotC story! Yay for me! I'm taking a vacation from my THE MUMMY stories and writing on the movie that now ties it for first in my list of favorite movies. This is what one (namely I) would call a "The Lady Or The Tiger?" story. If you're not familiar with that particular short story--FIND IT AND READ IT!!! But anyway, here's OF GENTLEMEN, ROGUES, AND PIRATES, told from Elizabeth's point of view on her wedding to. . .well, you decide who you think it is._

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**Of Gentlemen, Rogues, and Pirates**

I look into his eyes. Ahh, what lovely eyes they are too. From the first time I saw the very depths of my soul shining back in them, I knew he was it. The only man I could ever love. The only man I could ever marry. My perfect match. We are so alike, and yet so very, very different. Maybe that's why his amused smile returns my gaze. Is it just me, or do I see the slightest hint of a smirk in the corner of that blessed mouth? I cannot help the tip of a smirk on my own lips as our thoughts reach an equilibrium. Oh, can't this priest talk any faster? Can't the hours tick by more quickly until. . .I'm blushing. I feel it. My gaze must avert for a moment. But when my eyes fall on my lover's face, it is not his I see. His face contorts from his own to that of two other men, and back to his own a thousand times over. It makes me believe this moment isn't real. That soon I will awaken in my bed. . .alone. My mind plays tricks on me. It's the corset. Oh, the moment when he unlaces. . .I mustn't be thinking such things. It may be my wedding day, but I oughtn't dwell on unmentionable things like this night--tonight--so longed for since I met him.

My brow furrows. It can't be. Why does his face change? Is it the fingertips of God, rearranging the face and form to match that of the two other men this could very well be--the two men who are not present here for. . .I broke their hearts. No. I cannot regret this. If I was with either of them, I'd be unhappy. . .wouldn't I?

My eyelids veil my vision. When I open them, it is Commodore Norrington before me. His eyes so warm, his lips being moistened in the long-awaited kiss of mine. How long has he waited for this moment? How many years has he longed for me in this way? Saddness sweeps my being. He's waited for me when he could've taken a wife years ago. He'll take good care of me, such good care of me. My father is proud. . .so happy with me. This is what he's always wanted for me. My thoughts return to Norrington. His lips part, silently forming the words: "I love you." He loves me. Another sorrowful wave washes over me as a tear wells in my eye. I cannot do this. I cannot let that diamond drop passed my eyelashes. So I close my eyes again.

My pupils only stare into the blackness of my eyelids as I feel some cold, metallic thing slide down my ring finger. I'm his. Who possesses me? I know not now. I open my eyes, and it is the mischevious grin of William Turner. Sweet, dear, dear Will. He adores me so. I smile back. What will we do? With the soon-coming kiss, I'll be sealing my fate as a blacksmith's wife. I'll be stepping down from the elegance and prestige of being the governor's daughter. But oh, those eyes don't dare hide the adoration, the admiration, the disbelief. Those eyes deny the importance of that which is material. Those eyes tell me without words that I am the only treasure his heart desires, that I am the only air he needs to breathe, that I am the only cause worth living and dying for. Oh, Will. . .those lips I will so soon kiss whisper, the sound only carrying to my ears: "I love you." The sincerity of that simple phrase hits me somewhere hard, and I cannot help but avert my gaze to the floor.

But the ground can only be the object of my gaze for so long. I must look on his face. I'll die if I don't. My eyes avert to the man I now find myself repeating the priest's words to. . .to Captain Jack Sparrow. Why is he so handsome, so confident even amongst this uncomfortable crowd? They are tense, awed at what my father is allowing, but I do not feel their tension. The only thing I feel now is his love. A man I didn't believe capable of such watches me with tenderness. Those eyes. . .those haunting eyes are a keyhole into his complicated soul. No man has ever needed love so completely, and no man has ever so completely loved. He would give up the 'Black Pearl' for me, I see it in his eyes. The object of his devotion, the possession that has owned all of this man--his spirit, his mind, his heart, his body. All of these he's giving to me, and pain becomes me. I know what the 'Black Pearl' means to him, and I know I'm not worth that, even if he does not. All those scars. . .physical and emotional, because of that ship. Scars that need be healed. I just don't know if I'm up to it. Before I can look away, I hear it, without a word leaving his lips: "I love you."

I close my eyes, sliding the ring onto my lover's finger. My mind is so foggy, I don't know which it is I've taken as my husband. I don't know whether my wedding bed will be an elegant four-poster, a simple hay mattress, or a captain's bunk on board a ship. I don't know whether my children will have Norrington's aristocratic nose or Will's soft brown hair or Jack's tanned, olive skin. My eyelids begin to lift, but only drop again as a pair of lips press against mine, leaving hope for more passionate ones to come. I sigh slightly, a smile tip-toing up my lips as I realize how ridiculous it is that I've forgotten. That I've been confused as to the man I've married. It must be this corset. How in the world could I forget. . .

I open my eyes confidently, smiling up at my husband--at the man whose name I've taken as my own. The man with whom I'll build a family, and spend as many years as God allows us together. He takes my hand, smiling back at me, and we take our first step back down the aisle as man and wife.


End file.
